


Butcher's Favourite Bar

by duchess_of_brighton



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Billy likes it his way, Billy's way is HOT, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, F/M, Guilty Pleasures, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Porn With Plot, Roughness, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Table Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchess_of_brighton/pseuds/duchess_of_brighton
Summary: As is so often the way with Butcher, decency fights indecency for dominance. Smutty smutty smut for Butcher and the proprietress of his favourite bar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've migrated here from fanfiction.net because they don't yet recognise The Boys. And because they have some issues with smut. And this, my new friends, this is smutty. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

Butcher's favourite bar has three things going for it. Number one, everyone minds their own business, despite it being the sort of tiny, hole in the wall joint that sets you shoulder to shoulder with the guy on the barstool next to you. Number two, the liquor isn't watered down, or not the liquor he drinks, anyway. And number three... well, he doesn't like to consciously think about number three. Number three is just there, improving the atmosphere and enhancing the view. Number three is no big deal, really. 

Which is what Butcher tells himself until he turns into the familiar alley one evening and finds cop cars and an ambulance filling the space outside the bar. Another guy might have taken that as a damn good reason to make a u-turn - hell, normally Butcher himself would have seen it that way - but instead he shoves his way right past the cop at the door and into the narrow space, and sees reason number three standing with another cop and sporting the beginnings of a black eye.

He ignores the cop completely as he steps past the uniform and into the bartender's space.  
"What the fuck, Theresa?"   
"What the fuck, Butcher?" She echoes him right back, rolling her eyes.   
"Ma'am?" The cop tries to interrupt, but maybe Terri can see how much Butcher wants to punch someone right now, because she puts herself between the two of them before she answers.  
"He's my friend. We're all good."  
The cop eyes Butcher just a little nervously, but to give the kid - he can't be more than twenty five, tops - his credit, he doesn't step back. "Do you want us to escort you home, ma'am?"  
"No, you're fine. I'm going to clean up here and stay closed this evening. Thank you, though."  
"Okay, ma'am." The cop's eyes slide between Butcher and Terri, "You be sure to call if you need anything."  
"I will. Thank you again, Officer."   
Butcher stands flanking Terri as the cop slowly leaves, his partner joining him as they exit the bar.   
"You want a drink, Butcher?" Terri asks.  
"Thought you were closing?"  
"I am. You want a drink anyway? I wouldn't mind the company."  
There's a distant alarm bell ringing in the back of Butcher's mind, but he doesn't feel too inclined to listen to it yet. After all, you could argue that success in his profession is dependent on ignoring alarm bells and doing the fucking thing anyway.  
"Yeah, alright." He settles himself on a barstool, and Terri goes to lock the door and pull the blinds down before she takes her place behind the bar.

"What the fuck happened, Terri? I'm serious this time." He tells her, and something in his tone obviously convinces her of that, because she sighs and leans her elbows on the bar, bringing her face closer to his as she answers.   
"I had a customer who was a little confused about the services on offer. He wanted a handful of me with his tequila."  
"And you ended up with a black eye?"   
"He was pretty insistent."   
A growl makes its way out of Butcher's throat. "They get him? The cops?"  
She smirks, "The ambulance guys needed to fix him up first."  
The corner of Butcher's mouth curls upwards towards a smile. "Fuck me, Theresa, what did you do?"  
"Showed him what a former US Marine thinks about attempted sexual assault." Her smirk widens into a grin, "Starting with a busted nose, and balls that won't be finding their way back down for a few weeks."  
He lets out a bark of laughter, "That's my girl."   
Her face being close to his gives Butcher a ringside view of her pupils dilating - well, the pupil that isn't already kind of dilated from the black eye. Then she turns away to pour him a drink and Butcher wants to punch himself in the dick. 

Sure, Terri's hot as hell. Full tits and slim hips, and legs that go on for about a mile and a half before they disappear into battered combat boots. Then there were the tattoos, and the wavy copper hair that she twisted on top of her head with a pencil, and those dark green eyes... But then Butcher has also catalogued the mismatched bar stools, the number of broken tiles in the men's room, and the illustrations on the mirror behind the bar. Terri is another part of the bar's furnishings, as far as he's concerned. An attractive feature, but then so were the smoked glass light fittings. 

And he’s just going to keep telling himself that, while he simultaneously tries not to watch her ass as she bends over to grab another bottle from the shelf under the bar, and tries not to worry about just how fucking vulnerable she is working alone in a place like this. 

It’s not like he’s been celibate since Becca. A man has needs. But the occasional anonymous fuck is not the same as noticing a woman the way he’s trying not to notice Terri. And it’s not the part about noticing her ass that he’s worried about. 

"Whatcha thinking about, Butcher?" She tops up his glass straight from the bottle, and he drains it just as fast.  
"You should have some security." He answers, which is definitely a part of what he's been thinking about.  
Terri snorts with laughter. "Butcher, you already got the job. You sitting there glowering at everyone who walks in does an excellent job of ensuring security around here. It was bad luck you weren't here a half hour earlier."  
"Ah, fuck." Guilt punches him in the gut. It was true that if he'd been there, there's no way the guy would have gotten close enough to harass her in the first place, let alone black her eye when she fought back.  
"I was kidding!" Her face falls, "Seriously Butcher, it was a joke. You're not responsible for any of this. You're right, I should have security. There used to be a guy on the door, but the idiot boss canned him for drinking on the job and never replaced him."   
"I thought you were the boss?" He frowns, and she winks as best she can.  
"See? Entirely my fault." She shrugs. "Maybe next time one of the seven will turn up and defend my honour."  
His hand shoots out before he can stop himself, closing tight around her wrist as his gut roils. "I wouldn't let any of those fuckers anywhere near you!" 

There's a moment of stillness as their eyes lock, then she half smiles. "I'd rather have you than a supe any day." She glances down at her wrist, still encircled by his fingers, then meets his gaze again. "I'd rather have you here than anyone else, Butcher." She adds softly. Then her focus drifts back to his hand around her wrist, "I think you can let go now."  
"Fuck, sorry." He moves his hand from her wrist to his glass, and she reaches for a glass of her own from the shelf above his head, her shirt riding up to give him just a glimpse of skin, before the glass is on the bar beside his and she's pouring generous measures into both.  
"Did they take a look at your eye? The medics?" He asks, trying not to stare too hard at the nascent bruising.   
"Yeah, it's more my cheekbone and it's not busted, so they weren't worried."  
"You should get some ice on it. You got ice?"  
The look she gives him clues him in to the stupidity of the question even before she nods towards the ice bucket. 

"Give it here." Butcher has an overwhelming need to take control of the situation, and it surprises him slightly that she doesn't object. Instead, Terri places the ice bucket on the bar and hands him a clean bar towel. He wraps ice in the towel and gestures to her. "Come round here."  
She moves a little more slowly than he was expecting, but she sits where he gestures, on the high stool beside his, and he brings the improvised ice pack to her cheek and eye. She hisses slightly with pain, and he moves closer to her instinctively, steadying her head with his other hand. 

"You were a Marine, eh?" It's the first thing that comes into his head.  
"Yeah. Did two tours in Afghanistan."   
"That where you learned to kick a guy in the balls?"  
"Nah. My Daddy taught me that when I was six." She grins with the side of her face that isn't blanketed in ice pack."He was a Marine too."  
"Didn't have you pegged for a 'daddy' kind of girl." Butcher could kick himself for allowing that thought out loud, but Terri just laughs.  
"My daddy was from Georgia. Goes with the territory."  
"Let me take a look at this." Butcher gently lifts the ice pack from her face, leaning in closer to examine the reddened skin. Terri's hand comes up in an instinctive gesture of protection, and he's caught her wrist again before he thinks about it. 

It's her tiny gasp that makes him suddenly aware of the position they're in. By standing to get better access to her face, he's placed his legs between hers, their bodies only inches apart. He can feel her racing pulse under his fingers, see her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, and it's almost definitely his imagination, but he fancies he can smell her arousal as well, and that fucking does for him. She shifts slightly on the stool, and he feels the inside of her thigh brush against the outside of his. 

"Theresa..." His tone is a warning. But he's honestly not sure if he's warning her or himself.   
"Yes, Butcher?" She's looking up at him, and there's not even a hint of fear in her eyes.   
"I'm not a nice guy." He offers, wondering if that might be the understatement of the century.  
"You're being pretty nice to me."   
"Theresa," He repeats, bringing his face as close to hers as he can. "I am bad man who's done a fuck ton of diabolical fucking things."   
She licks her lips. "You gonna do bad things to me, Butcher?" This time her thighs close around his, and she pulls him close, bringing his groin into contact with the heat between her legs.  
He's already hard - he's a man after all, and she's an attractive fucking woman - and his eyes want to roll back in his head as she locks her legs around him.  
"Terri..." This time it comes out closer to a plea. Terri's a gorgeous, tough, and confident woman, and there'd be something wrong with him if he didn't desperately want to take a big old slice of exactly what she's offering. But he still knows it's a bloody bad idea. Then again, thats never stopped him in the past. 

"I'm not breakable, Butcher. I'm a big girl, I know what I'm asking for."   
"Do ya? Want to enlighten me?"   
She reaches upwards and her lips come close to his ear. "Fuck me, Butcher."   
"That's all its gonna be." He cautions, because he's surrendered to the inevitability of this now, and he wants to go in clean.   
"I don't remember asking for anything else." She draws back slightly to look at him. "Let go, Butcher. You don't scare me."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He's not sure which of them closed the gap, maybe both of them, but the next thing he knows, his mouth is on Terri's, rough and hungry, and he's tugging her off the barstool and into his arms. Which is good because it brings her soft round tits into direct contact with his chest, and bad because their height differential means he loses the direct press of his dick between her legs.

Terri's an enterprising kind of woman, though, because next thing he knows her legs are around his waist and they've crashed against the wall, his dick right back where he wanted it as he pins her between his body and the rough plasterwork. 

She's whimpering and moaning against his mouth, and he finds that the harder he grinds his hips into hers, the louder she gets, and he really fucking likes it. His dick is throbbing, but he kind of likes the idea of getting her off before he even gets her clothes off. 

With that in mind, he shoves a hand unceremoniously down the back of her jeans, palming her ass and tilting her hips into his.   
"That's right, love." He murmurs against her ear, before taking the lobe between his teeth and biting down none too gently, "Give it up for me."  
The sound she makes in response is indecipherable, but she can't disguise the arching of her spine or the shudders that pass through her body and leave her momentarily as a dead weight in his arms. 

He lets her slide down his body, her feet landing on the floor, and then she looks up at him, biting her lip.  
"Is that all I'm getting?" There's a kind of resignation in her voice.  
"Fuck no! I'm not that fucking philanthropic." Butcher responds, and she's obviously convinced by his vehement denial, as her face cracks into a smile.   
"Thought you might be trying to be the better man again."  
His chuckle doesn't carry any humour, as her words hit a little too close to the bone. But he's in this now, and even if his dick wasn't about to burst out of his pants, he still wouldn't want to leave.  
Terri reaches up and kisses him again, her hand running down his chest and taking hold of his belt. "Come upstairs."  
"What's upstairs?"  
"My place."

The alarm bells start ringing again, or maybe it's just that he's allowing himself to notice them again, because unless his early warning system is on the blink, those bells should have been ringing this entire time.   
"I don't generally do house calls." He tells her.  
Her fingers slowly unbuckle his belt, and the slide of leather is loud in the quiet room. "I'll make it worth your while, Butcher."  
They both know he's going upstairs, so Butcher decides to give in gracefully. 

It's a one room apartment, clean and fairly neat. There's a kitchenette in one corner, a table, a bed, and a door that he's guessing leads to the bathroom. Light comes from a single warm lamp set on a low stool beside the bed.   
"You want another drink?" Terri asks as she moves ahead of him into the centre of the room, but he pulls her back into his arms, grinding his dick against her ass.   
"You know what I want." He eyes the bed and then the table. Bed isn't really somewhere he feels comfortable. Not for this. 

Spinning her around, he finds her mouth with his again, because it's a hell of a lot easier when he doesn't have to talk. Instead, he concentrates on getting her flannel shirt off, so he can get his hands on what's beneath. A thin cotton tank top lasts as long as it takes him to temporarily jerk his lips from hers, and yank it over her head, so not very fucking long at all. Then he's working the clasp of her bra and within seconds her tits are in his hands, warm and soft, his fingers tugging her nipples just hard enough to make her gasp.

"Take your clothes off." She requests between kisses, but Butcher just moves his focus to her pants. Nothing wrong with tight jeans for showcasing legs like hers, but a bitch to strip off. So he just settles for undoing the button and yanking them downwards, trusting her to give him a hand - which of course she does, dropping to a crouch to unlace her boots, which puts her face right about level with..

"Fuck, Terri!"   
The hand that isn't dealing with her boots is now caressing his dick through his pants, and unless he's very much mistaken, the top button of his jeans just went the same way as hers. It's all he can do not to pant as she pops the buttons one by one, releasing his straining dick from its confinement.  
"How did I just know you were the commando type?" She asks, but he can't answer because her lips close around the slick head of his dick, and he loses the ability to speak. 

Somewhere in his mind, between the alarm bells and the insistent caress of her tongue, and the desire to just shoot his load deep down her throat, he knows he needs to regain control of this situation. So he forces the message through to his body, and mindful of her bruised face, gently draws back.   
She looks up at him, half naked, skin flushed, lips swollen, and the pang that goes through him at the sight only makes him more determined to do this his way.  
"Take your pants off." He tells her, and she comes to her feet and obeys, kicking off her unlaced boots and shimmying her pants and underwear down her legs until she's standing naked in front of him.

In a small concession to the situation, he shrugs off his jacket and throws it in the direction of the pile of her clothes.   
"Bend over the table." He tells her, and Terri smirks.   
"It's like that, is it?"  
"I told you I'm not a nice guy."  
"I'm counting on it." She spins and places her hands on the table, looking back at him over her shoulder. Then she very deliberately drops to her elbows, pushing her hips back and spreading her legs wider, so that he can see exactly what lies between them.

He grabs her hips and sinks home in one deep thrust that has her almost screaming. But since what she screams is his name, he figures she's okay with it. And he's definitely okay with it. Incredibly hot, deliciously tight, so wet he could slam into her as hard as he wanted and it still felt like a smooth glide.   
"Oh fuck, Butcher! Fuck!" She slaps the table with her palm and pushes back against his thrust, and he smacks her ass in response. Not too hard, just enough to give him satisfaction and make her howl his name again.   
"Like that?" His voice is a rough growl.  
"Yes!"  
"Like this?" His thumb pushes against the rosebud of her ass, and her head flies back as she cries out.   
"Yes!"  
He's struggling to hold his rhythm as she pushes back onto him, forcing his dick even deeper into her pussy and his thumb deeper into her ass.  
"Get yourself there." He rasps, because there are only so many things he can do at once, especially when he's this close to blowing.   
Her hand reaches immediately between her legs and he feels her clench down on his dick as she starts to rub her clit.   
"Fuck, that's it love, ready for me? Tell me, Terri!"  
"Yes! Yes!"   
He grabs her hips again and buries himself as deep as he can as he feels her muscles clamp down and spasm around him. Even if he wanted to hold back, there's no way he could. He groans and throws his head back as he pulses inside her, coming so hard his mind blanks and his legs shake, his eyes squeeze shut and for a moment there is absolutely nothing. No anger, no regret, no guilt, no sick feeling in his stomach. Nothing. And nothing feels so fucking good that he's already missing it before it's even over. 

Terri's legs are shaking against his. That's what pulls him out of the semiconscious state their coupling has left him in.   
"You alright?" He manages, as he lifts his torso from her back.   
"Yeah." She pants. "Just..."  
He slowly eases himself out of her sweat slicked body, trying not to watch as their combined juices trickle down the inside of her thigh. Not because there's anything distasteful about it, but because the sight already has his dick twitching again. 

Terri pushes herself upright and turns to face him. Her breasts are reddened from being pressed to the table, and her bruised cheek and swollen eye are more noticeable against the pink flush of the rest of her skin. She steps into him, her mouth curving into a smile.  
"You're a man of talent, Butcher."  
"So I've been told." He replies, cupping her undamaged cheek in his palm. "Didn't hurt you, did I?"   
"Not even a little bit." The smile turns a little wicked, "Well, maybe just enough."   
"Happy to hear it." He bends and makes to pull up his pants from around his ankles, but her hand on his arm stops him.   
"Why don't you stay for a while?"  
He shakes his head. "Bad idea, love. Very bad idea."  
"Why? You done playing in my sandbox?"  
"Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?" He can't resist palming the slickness between her legs. "Doesn't sound like a very accurate description."   
She snorts with laughter and leans in close. "Stay, Butcher. Have another drink with me."  
He shakes his head. "Not tonight, love."  
"But you'll be back, right?" There's just the tiniest hint of vulnerability, but Butcher sees it.   
"You run my favourite bar. What do you think?" He buttons his fly and picks up his jacket. "I'll see you soon, Theresa."  
"See you soon, Butcher. Thanks for the company."  
He can't help but reach out and touch her bruised cheek.   
"Put some more ice on that. And get some sleep."  
"Yes sir." She smirks, and he feels better about leaving. She's fine, Terri. She's a tough girl and she knows the score. 

And he's going to keep reminding himself of that while he struggles to get to sleep and wonders if he should have stayed, just to keep her safe.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

He waits a few days before going back to the bar. Wants to make sure any problematic feelings have dissipated. Not that there are any from his side, but he remembers that glimpse of vulnerability in Terri and wants to give her the space to file away their little encounter. After all, it's not something he plans on allowing to happen again, however much his dick and his dreams disagree.

The first thing he notices is her bruising. It's purple and blue now, spreading right across her cheekbone and into her eye socket. It takes a surprising amount of effort for him not to reach out and cup her face, not to examine the damaged skin more closely. Of course what he'd really like to do is chase down the asshole who dealt the blow in the first place, and finish what Terri started by breaking every other bone in his body, but that seems like a disproportionate impulse, so he ignores it. 

"Hello, Theresa."  
"Butcher." She gives him a smile as he slides onto the one free barstool, and pours him a drink.   
"You're looking colourful." He gestures to her cheek. "Feeling alright?"  
"Feeling fine, Butcher, you know me." Her smile seems genuine enough, and he starts to relax. "How are you?"  
"Can't complain." He drains the glass and she refills it for him before moving away to serve another customer.

He'd like to tell himself it isn't a conscious decision, but he'd be lying and he knows it. Being the last one there when Terri starts closing up is as deliberate a choice as any other. He's been watching her for the last couple of hours, the deft movements of her hands, the interplay of muscles in her arms and shoulders, and the way her tight t-shirt stretches over those luscious tits. Tits he's regretting not having gotten more closely acquainted with when he had the chance. 

"Closing time, Butcher." Terri interrupts his thoughts with a snap of her fingers.  
"Sorry, love." He rises from his stool just a little reluctantly.   
"Unless... You want to come upstairs for another drink? With me?" Her face says she doesn't care either way, but her foot tapping compulsively against the bar says otherwise.   
And Butcher should probably - definitely - say no, but he might have to finally admit to himself that this is the very reason he came here tonight. "Lead the way."  
She's wearing her hair down, and he likes the way the copper waves brush against her shoulders as she walks up the stairs ahead of him. He'd like to feel his fingers threading through it, preferably while she's on her knees in front of him.

The tiny apartment is exactly how he remembers it, except there's paperwork stacked on the table.  
"Taxes." Terri says briefly when she sees him looking at it. "You want that drink?"  
Butcher looks around again. With the table out of action, the only options are the wall or... Those alarm bells in his head start cranking up the volume again.

"Butcher?" Terri steps close to him and he drags his attention back to focus on her face. Now they're alone he gives in to the impulse to gently trace the bruising on her face with his fingers.  
"You in pain?"   
She shakes her head slightly, then smirks. "Got some new bruises though."  
"What the fuck?!" He feels the surge of anger even as she starts to laugh.  
"Relax! Just..." She pulls the waistband of her jeans downwards on one side, and reveals a small bruise.   
It only takes him a second to catch on, and in that second Butcher experiences a rush of guilt, pride, and possessiveness that makes his movements a little harsher than he intended as he yanks her pants and underwear right down to mid thigh and spins her around.

Ten bruises. A cluster of four each side, then two more widely spaced apart. The ghosts of his hands gripping Terri's hips as he hammered into her, as he imprinted the pads of his thumbs and fingers into her skin. He can't decide if it's one of the hottest thing he's ever seen or one of the worst things he's ever done. 

Terri decides for him. "I like them." She looks at him over her shoulder. "They're a reminder of something I wanted." She gestures towards her cheek, "This wasn't." She turns around to face him again, and as she does she pulls her t-shirt off over her head. "I like it your way, Butcher."

Well, what the hell is a man supposed to say to that?

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her, his tongue pushing into her mouth as she groans and presses her breasts against his chest. The bra is in the way, so it has to go, and Butcher's got it undone and thrown aside within seconds. This time it's him who crouches to pull her jeans the rest of the way off, and since she discarded her shoes as soon as they walked into the apartment, she's naked and open to him as he returns to standing. 

"You want me?" He growls, and Terri nods, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. "You want me, my way?" He checks, and she answers by deliberately licking her lips. He steps right in close, takes her bottom lip between his teeth, and bites down just hard enough to make her gasp. "Oh, Theresa." His hand finds her breast and his thumb brushes her hard nipple. "I am going to make you scream."  
"I'm counting on it." She breathes, as his other hand reaches between her legs. 

She's already wet for him, which shouldn't be any kind of surprise, but is one hell of a fucking turn on. She widens her stance just a little, and he slips two fingers just inside her, his thumb finding her clit and strumming it none too gently.   
She pushes her hips into his hand and moans, then meets his eyes. "Take off your clothes first, Butcher. Fair's fair."   
He might have gotten away with it last time, but he's smart enough to know the chances of that happening again were pretty fucking low. Besides, she knows the score now, there's a lot less chance of needing to make a quick getaway. "Alright, love. If it makes you happy." He steps back and strips, dropping his clothes in a pile on the floor. He knows he's not bad to look at, and it wouldn't occur to him to be self conscious in this situation anyway. "Better?" He asks, once he's naked before her.  
She reaches out and traces a scar on his chest. "Better." 

And then she drops to her knees and Butcher realises he's about to get exactly what he was fantasising about on their way upstairs, as she wraps her lips around his dick and envelops him in her warm mouth. He pushes his fingers into that copper hair, and groans.   
"Fuck, that's it love." She sucks him a little harder, and he pushes just a little deeper. "You like my dick in that pretty mouth?"  
She can't answer, but she makes a hum that sounds like approval.   
"I'd ask for your safe word, but since you've got your mouth full, just punch me in the balls if you've had enough."  
She splutters with laughter around his dick, but then doubles down and takes him deeper, and he lets his hands move her head, just a little, and hears her hum with approval again, so he takes that as licence to move harder.  
"Holy fuck, you really do like this, don't you, love?" He's panting as he weaves his fingers tighter into her hair, "You want me to come down your throat?"  
Her hand cups his balls and she starts to squeeze, and after that it's pretty much all over.  
Butcher jerks and groans, and as he fills her mouth he experiences again that blissful blankness, the erasure of all thought and feeling except white noise and pleasure.   
"Theresa..."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

He slowly untangles his fingers from Terri’s hair and helps her to her feet, because it feels like the very fucking least he can do. Her lips are pink and swollen, her copper curls in disarray, and when he slides a slightly shaky hand between her legs, she’s dripping wet.   
“You liked that.” He doesn’t pose it as a question, because he already knows the answer.  
“I loved that.” She grins at him, “You’ve got a filthy mouth, Butcher.”  
He barks with laughter, “I’ve got a filthy mouth? Where has yours just been?"  
"Where do you stand on kissing after blowjobs?" She asks, and he laughs again.   
"Right about here." He pulls her in for a kiss, deep and wet and hard, because he doesn't give a shit.

As he kisses her, he backs her up against the wall. He knows the bed would be easier, more comfortable, and definitely kinder to his knees, but he doesn't do beds. So he presses Terri's back against the wall and drops to his knees, pushing her legs apart with his palms.  
"Fuck, love, you're dripping." He hooks his hand behind her knee and lifts her leg over his shoulder, opening her further to his gaze. "I bet you taste really fucking sweet."  
Terri starts to say something, but it changes to a moan as Butcher licks from her opening to her clit, letting out a groan of his own as her essence fills his mouth. And he was right, she tastes really fucking sweet.  
"Oh fuck, Butcher!" Her fingers bite into his scalp, and he grins to himself as he suckles on her clit. "Oh fuck, Butcher, please!"  
He slides his hand up the back of her thigh, his fingers cupping her ass as his thumb pushes into her pussy. The noise she makes spurs him on, and he whips his tongue back and forth over her clit. She's so fucking responsive, so fucking wet for him, and his dick is hardening again already.   
He drags his mouth away, but keeps his thumb pumping in and out of her pussy as his middle finger presses against her rear opening. He looks up at her, sees her head tipped back against the wall, her eyes closed, her breath coming in pants. "Come for me, love." It's an order, not a request, and as he returns his tongue to her clit, it only takes a few more hard flicks before she shudders, gushes, and cries out. 

"That's my girl." He tries not to groan at the ache in his knees as he gets back to his feet, "Fucking delicious, Theresa, that's what you are."   
She blinks her eyes open, and there's something about the gentle slump of her body against the wall, and the satisfied warmth in her gaze that makes those damned alarm bells in his head shriek like bloody murder.   
"Feel free to have a taste whenever you like." She murmurs, before tipping away from the wall and forward into his arms. She's all softness and warmth as she wraps herself around him, and Butcher breathes into her hair as her head rests for a moment on his shoulder. The scent of her shampoo, something tangy, not too sweet, mingles with the scent of her that's all over his face, and something short circuits in his brain and kills the alarm bells. And even if it shouldn't, that makes his dick harder than it already was. 

"No rest for the wicked, Theresa."  
He lifts her up, intending to press her back to the wall, remembering how good that felt with clothes on their first time, and pretty sure it's going to be fucking spectacular when he can get his dick inside her. But although she raises her head and gives him a grin, she's still a little unsteady as she tries to jump up, and as her weight lands unevenly he stumbles, and given a choice between crashing to the floor and aiming for the bed...

Her back hits the mattress and he manages to land most of his weight on his arms to avoid crushing her, but he's still on top of her, her legs wrapped around him, and there's a moment when he could push himself upright, find his clothes, and get the fuck out of there, but then Terri lifts her head and kisses him, and that moment is gone.

And fuck, it feels good this way. He palms her breast and pinches her nipple hard, making her whine into his mouth. Her fingers dig into his back and she raises her hips, seeking him out.   
He tears his mouth from hers. "Patience, love."   
"Says who?" She levers her weight and tries to roll them, but although she's strong, she's no match for him.   
"Not a fucking chance." He grabs hold of her wrists and pins her arms above her head. "You wanted it my way, remember?"  
If anything, she's breathing even harder, her pupils so dilated he can barely see the dark green of her irises.   
He starts to grin. "Very clever, Theresa. You know how to get what you want, don't you, love?"  
"I like to think so." Her voice is breathy, and she's no longer pretending to fight him.  
"Well alright then." He briefly releases her left hand while he notches his dick against her entrance, before taking a firm hold of her wrist once again and pressing both arms into the mattress. "You asked for it, love."  
He surges forward, driving deep into her in one hard thrust that has her arching against his hold. He already knew how fucking wet she was for him, but she's burning hot inside as well, and that has him gasping. Gentle isn't a tool in his arsenal these days, but even if it had been, he wouldn't have been able to manage it. Terri feels too fucking good, too tight, too hot, too hungry for him, taking everything he gives her and responding with moans and gasps as he presses her arms harder into the mattress, knowing he's going to leave more of those fingerprint bruises, and letting himself really fucking like the idea. 

She's clenching around his dick, her eyes closed and face contorted as she chases down her climax, and Butcher isn't having that.  
"Open your eyes." He orders, "Know who's giving it to you."  
Her eyes open wide, and look right into his. "I know... who's fucking me... so good... Butcher!" Her voice emerges as a wail as he grinds his pelvis against hers, knowing he's hitting her clit now. His own climax is barrelling down on him, and seeing her pinned under him, open and desperate, is destroying any shred of control.  
"Billy," He rasps, "Call me Billy."  
And the last thing he hears before she shatters around him, milks him dry and sends him back into that peaceful void, is her voice calling out his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, where do we go from here? I don't bloody know to be honest, this was meant to be a plotless one shot. Feel free to give me ideas by commenting below... DB


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this last night, couldn't sleep for thinking about it, and finished it at 5am. So if it's a bit of a shit show, sorry about that. Blame Butcher.

Chapter Five

He had had absolutely no intention whatsoever of going anywhere near Terri again. So the fact that Butcher's now banging desperately on her door with the tiny bit of strength he has left in his bloodied fist is so far from the fucking plan, it's on a different fucking planet; making this the second plan that's gone completely to fucking shit today. 

When he'd left her bed five days ago - not while she was sleeping, he's not that much of a prick, it was a full ten minutes after they'd both come, and he'd kissed her goodbye - he'd promised himself he wasn't going there again. Not fair to her, and a fucking bad idea for him, however outstanding the sex might be. It's all a complication he could do without, and the last thing he wants is for Theresa to start developing feelings for him, and getting hurt when he can't return them. 

So why is he banging on her door? Well it's probably something to do with not being able to risk going home, and his other temporary accommodation being reduced to a pile of rubble. Because it's definitely not about how she makes him feel. Although actually, he thinks, actually... And then he passes out on her doorstep without finishing that thought.

The next thing Butcher's aware of, he's laying on a hard surface, but he's warm and there's something soft under his head, so he deduces that he's no longer outside. That deduction uses up all of his available brain power though, so he lapses back into unconsciousness. 

The second time he comes to, he manages to open his eyes and look around. He's laying on the floor of Terri's bar, with pillows under his head and blankets covering him, and he's pretty sure he isn't bleeding anymore, mainly because it's daylight and he's still alive. 

"Morning, Butcher." Terri's sitting against the wall a few feet from him. "How are you feeling?"  
Her voice and expression are both strangely neutral, and he can't quite gauge the situation right now.   
"Alive." He settles on, and is rewarded by the ghost of a smile.  
"That'll be my field medic training."   
He sits up very carefully, but the room stays steady and he doesn't think he has a concussion, which is a minor fucking miracle under the circumstances. "What happened?"  
"You're asking me?" She snorts slightly, "Butcher, you banged on my door at 1am and by the time I made it down here you were bleeding out on my stoop."  
"I wasn't bleeding out." He protests.  
"No, and I didn't have to stitch and glue your leg back together while you were passed out on my floor. You're very welcome, by the way." 

Okay, she's pissed off. He supposes she has the right to be. For the first time he registers that he's lost most of his clothes somewhere along the line, and his left leg is indeed covered in two large surgical dressings, though strangely he's not in pain.  
"What's the verdict, doc?" He tries.  
"You're going to have a few new scars for the collection. But I didn't see any signs of head trauma, and looking at the general state of you I'd say you got most of your body behind cover before whatever blew, blew. Right?"  
Sometimes he forgets she was a fucking Marine. Of course she knows shrapnel damage when she sees it. "I'd say you were right on the money, doc. If I could either confirm or deny anything that might or might not have happened last night, which I can't."  
"Save the fucking doublespeak." Terri pushes herself to her feet and looks at down at him. "I didn't call an ambulance because I had you figured for a criminal. But right now you sound like a G-man, and those I leave out on the street to bleed freely."

"I'm not a fucking G-man! Fuck, Theresa, that really what you think?"  
"Fucking hell Butcher! What am I supposed to think? You tell me you're a bad guy, fuck my brains out - twice - disappear, then show up with serious injuries and beg me not to leave you. A girl could start thinking she was getting mixed signals."   
She runs her hands through her hair, and he registers how tired she looks, the green tinge of the healing bruises on her face, the bloodstains on her clothes, and what a fucking asshole he is, in that exact order.  
"I'm sorry, Theresa." Then he registers something else, "I begged you to what?"  
"It doesn't matter. Probably the painkillers talking."   
"What painkillers?" As much as he doesn't enjoy agony, Butcher doesn't fancy an Oxy habit either.  
"Don't worry, I don't dole out opioids without informed consent." She smiles thinly, "You'll be hurting again in an hour or so." She stretches and twists her hair into a crude knot on top of her head. "I think you should try to eat and drink something, and if you keep it down and don't spike any fever then I'll call you a cab and you can go wherever it is you go when you're not here."  
She disappears behind the bar and he hears her footsteps going upstairs to the apartment. He'd follow her, but his leg won't allow it, and right now he's fairly sure he's about three more wrong words from a punch in the face, and he doesn't want to add to his injuries. 

Butcher gingerly moves and flexes each arm in turn, then his right leg, all of which seem to be functioning fairly normally. He feels a bit like he's been hit by a truck, but since that's not far off the mark, he supposes it's only to be expected. His left leg is clearly a shit show, though. He has a memory of limping along the street with a piece of metal sticking out of it, so not a surprise. 

His recall of events is coming back fairly quickly, and he reaches instinctively for the burner phone in his jacket pocket, before remembering that he isn't wearing his jacket anymore. Presumably Terri has put his clothes somewhere, so he'll have to ask her for it when she returns. It makes him feel a helplessness that's unfamiliar and really fucking unpalatable.

Terri's footsteps on the stairs alert him to her return, this time bearing a plate and glass.   
"Water. Toast." She sets them down beside him and immediately retreats out of his reach. "You should be able to manage those."  
"What, no Marmite?" He can't help himself, and he's surprised how relieved he is to hear her laugh, even if it sounds kind of reluctant. "Terri, I need my phone, from my jacket. I've got to check on some...thing."  
"Something, or someone?" She retrieves his jacket from a hook by the bar, and drops it on the end of his makeshift bed.   
"Not like that." He says quickly, then wonders why he felt the need to say it. He grabs the phone and checks the messages, and notes with relief that the boys have all checked in. Not that Hughie and Milk had been there when shit went south, but Frenchie and the Woman are alright, so it looks like they've got away with it.

"Butcher, what the fuck happened?" This time when she sits down on the floor, it's only around a foot away from him, so he supposes that's progress.   
He returns the phone to his jacket and picks up a slice of toast to put off answering the question. It tastes a little like cardboard in his mouth, but it doesn't make him sick, so that's good. He chews as slowly as he can, but Terri's gaze on him is unrelenting.   
"You owe me, Butcher." She says softly. "You don't get to turn up on my doorstep in that state and not tell me at least something about what happened."  
"It was an accident." He says truthfully.  
"An accidental explosion? Is that a common occurrence for you?"  
"Depends on your definition of common, love." He sighs, "Lets just call it a failed experiment." Yeah, an experiment that pretty much levelled a building, when the chemical concoction Frenchie had been trying to make was actually supposed to do no more than blow a supe's head off. "Honestly, Theresa, it's a complex fucking situation, and there is no way I'm letting you anywhere close enough to get blowback. I'm not having you hurt." He puts that one down to the painkillers.

"Okay. I get it." She's lost that guarded look, and he feels like they might be getting towards being okay again. "You've never pretended not be whatever it is you are," She continues, "So I guess we can leave it at that."  
It might be the food and water, or the knowledge that the boys are alright, or just the fact that he didn't die last night, but Butcher's starting to feel the high that usually only comes after a much more successful mission. "I am sorry, Theresa." He offers again.   
"Sorry for what, exactly?" She looks at him curiously.  
"Fuck." He sighs, "I'm sorry I put you out. But I'm not sorry I came here and let you save my life, alright?"  
A smile plays around the corners of her mouth, "You admitting that now, then?"  
"Oh yeah. Absolute lifesaver, you are." He risks a grin of his own, then asks the question that's been at the back of his mind for a while. "But if I was bleeding out, how exactly did you save my life without a transfusion?"  
"I keep a couple units of O neg in the fridge." She replies, "I have buddies from the corps... they're not doing too well, on the street, and sometimes... Well, let's just say you're not the first guy to turn up bleeding on my doorstep." She shrugs. "We do what we gotta do, right?"

What Butcher has to do right then, against any better judgement he has left, is kiss Terri. Fuck his leg, fuck complications, fuck everything except his hand reaching out and cupping the back of her head, his dry lips searching out hers, and the satisfaction of her mouth opening under his as he plunges his tongue inside and fucking claims her.


	6. Chapter 6

"How long did you say I have before the painkillers wear off?" He murmurs the words against Terri's mouth, because right now he doesn't feel inclined to pull back any further than that.  
"Butcher, you're in no fit state-" She protests, but she doesn't pull back either, and he shuts her up with another kiss. "At least let me do the work." She says when he finally releases her mouth.  
It's not something he'd normally entertain, but he's realistic about his current physical limitations, and the prospect of watching her tits bounce while she rides him is pretty enticing.  
"Strip off and jump on, love."  
She laughs, "Your seduction technique needs some work, Butcher."   
"Haven't heard you complaining before now." He fixes his eyes on hers, letting the humour fade from his voice, "Now be a good girl and do as you're told."   
Terri hesitates for just a second, but then she scrambles to her feet and sheds her bloodstained T-shirt and jeans. "These could use a wash anyway."  
He growls, and she smirks just a little as she removes her underwear. 

Terri can pretend nonchalance all she likes, Butcher decides, but she can't hide the smell of her arousal, or the slickness between her legs as she carefully straddles his lap and his fingers seek out her centre.   
"Ready for me, love?"  
"Always."   
Her unguarded response should set off those alarm bells, but the system is clearly on the blink because all her words do is make him kiss her again, as he shoves the blankets down to his thighs and helps to guide her down onto his straining dick. 

His eyes roll back in his head from the heat of her, even before she starts slowly moving on him, her inner muscles caressing his dick.   
"Holy fuck, Theresa..."  
She gives him a breathy laugh in response, and he feels a sensation against his lower belly that has him fighting to regain focus so he can take a look. Trouble is, when he sees Terri's fingers rubbing over her clit as her pussy takes him deep, the sight gives him an almighty shove closer to the point of no return.  
"S'gonna be quick." He grunts out in mitigation, and feels her squeeze his dick even tighter.   
"Let go, Billy. I want to feel you filling me up." 

It would take a far better man than him to refuse that request, so he gives her exactly what she asked for, groaning out his release as he pumps into her. Her fingers are moving fast and hard on her clit, and she pushes down on him, arches and shakes, and he feels her climax around his dick. 

"Billy..." That name again, this time softly as she falls forward, bringing her chest into contact with his.   
"It's alright, love." He runs a hand over her hair and for a few moments they rest like that, the only sound in the room their slowing breaths. 

Terri eases herself upright, and for the first time Butcher feels a stab of pain from his thigh. It's nothing too strong, but he has a feeling that it'll be throbbing like a motherfucker before long.   
"Pain?" She's watching his face, and he can't hide the grimace.  
"Yeah."  
"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable, and I'll give you some more drugs."  
He should leave, obviously. But he's in pain, Terri's got the skills to fix him up, and he doesn't have the willpower right now.  
"Alright." He concedes, and if Terri is surprised, she doesn't let it show.  
"If you lean on me and try to keep the weight off your leg, we can get upstairs."

It's not a bad idea, but in practice the shit version of a three legged race that gets them up to Terri's apartment just exacerbates the pain. Butcher does his best to breathe through it and curse under his breath, until he's finally awkwardly manoeuvring himself into Terri's bed and laying his head back on pillows that smell of her hair, while she doles him out more drugs. He gulps them down eagerly, before wondering why he automatically trusts this woman - enough to let her medicate him without discussion. But he doesn't have the energy to answer that question right now. 

Terri leans over him. "Sleep, Butcher. It'll help."  
"What are you going to do?" He asks, fighting against eyelids that are already closing.  
"I'm going to clean up downstairs, then I'll take a nap on the couch down there."  
It takes him a minute to work out that the couch she's referring to is the uncomfortable leather bench that sits beneath the draughtier of the two front windows of the bar.  
"No you fucking won't. Sleep here. I'll take the couch."  
"You're not going anywhere." She rests a hand on his chest, using the lightest pressure to keep him from sitting up.  
"Then just sleep here with me." The drugs are kicking in, and all he wants now is oblivion. And something buried deep inside is whispering that it might be a lot more pleasant to enter that state with Terri's warm body laying next to his. "I'm not asking, Theresa. Come here and sleep."  
And the last thing he feels before he tumbles into sleep is the dip of the mattress as Terri complies.


End file.
